Illusions and Delusions
by AngelsInTheMist
Summary: A horcrux was never meant to be biological, Voldemort should've known the consequences, and now Harry pays for them
1. Chapter 1

**Idea: Duality**

**Outcome: I have no idea**

**Disclaimer: I'm not a behavioral psychologist, nor do I have any significant and proven knowledge within neuroscience or geneology. MAOA-L and psychopathy is currently a theory, this is for **_**Entertainment**_ **purposes.**

Prologue

Immortality is a blessing, a greedy man would say to his friend, immortality is a curse, a philosopher would say to his companion, "It is better to live a life full and rich than to spend a life forever searching for a purpose." the philosopher would quote. "It's better to be in control, than to let go of what you have." the greedy man would quote. Yet, when asked upon by both parties, they would both agree murder, is unethical and immoral. "To rob a man of his life, is to commit the most heinous act, and is to cause murder upon your own soul." the philosopher would declare, "Killing is bad for business and just isn't right, but there are times that killing can be excused." the greedy man would say.

Within the human genome, there is a specific gene identified as the "warrior gene", AKA monoamine oxidase A (MAOA-L), it's passed down from the X chromosome and is linked to aggression and impulsiveness. MAOA is present in approximately forty percent of the population, however it's triggered through the combination of being part of a traumatic event before puberty such as abuse.

Horcruxes are magical containers designed to withhold a soul fragment, they are often designed in inanimate objects as to maximize protection of the soul. A living horcrux is a volatile container in which the genes the soul expresses and the genes of the container fuse together. A notable example of this is the infamous case of Harry James Potter, 2008 in which he murdered a collective total of 1,300 people and indirectly caused the death of another two thousand. He was pronounced guilty and is currently spending the remainder of his immortal life within a maximum security prison in Sweden.

**Illusions and Delusions**

**Chapter One: The Master**

Harry doesn't know when he can stop, if he can stop, some days he feels nothing and continues on as an average wizard. Other days he wakes up and stares at his hands until he remembers to breathe, and when he breathes does he feel the inexplicable urge to kill, to hunt.

He kills for the first time when he was eleven, it was out of self defence.

He kills for the second time when he was twelve, he stabbed Tom Riddle's horcrux to save his best friend's sister.

He kills for the third time when he's seventeen, to end the prophecy and stop the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Two days after killing Voldemort he finds himself in a pub, nursing his thoughts with a bottle of gin in his right hand, the invisibility cloak over his shoulder, resurrection stone in his left hand. He's thinking over all that could've gone right and what he could've fixed in hindsight when he feels a familiar pressure in his left robe pocket. He doesn't even need to see to know what it is, he can already detect the power and bloodlust emanating from the wand, the Elder Wand. When he feels the Elder Wand against against his heart, he knows that he's doomed, and yet in his dreary and optimistic mind he pulls it out and snaps it. Only for it to reform in his pocket whole again, this time the bloodlust is stronger and he can hear the whispers the wand makes. Alarmed, he stumbles out of the pub and into the light, he's walking rapidly as he nears the entrance to his house. He falls to the ground as he sees a vision of himself; he's standing in a clearing, the unmoving body of a nude woman in front of him and he's stuffing his cock back into his pants. Harry sees himself slit the throat of the woman, and pulls out a knife, a ceremonial one he notes. Grasping the knife, he starts marking the body with symbols. The symbol of the Hallows on her neck and chest, and the markings of the sun and the moon on her lower abdomen.

Harry wakes up face first on the sidewalk, his body hurts and there's a billion pebbles in his face, but he's not concerned about that. He's concerned about what he just witnessed in his mind, but he's more concerned with the fact that he has a throbbing erection because he knows, he knows that he shouldn't of been aroused by what he saw, and yet he is. He knows he's not sadistic, he tells himself, but deep down, he can't help but hear a voice in the back of his skull telling him he likes it and more importantly, he wants more of it.

Harry stands up and runs into his home, locking the door and every appliance he knows of. He knows what to do now. He finds some rope in his attic and ties a noose, looping it over the chandelier and securing it. He fastents the noose around his neck and lets himself hang, only to his surprise he can't die. He knows he should be dead, he knows he's snapped his windpipe, he knows he's not breathing right now. Only that he's alive and he's processing all of this. Harry has never been more distraught in his short life than now, knowing that he's immortal and being the Master of Death was the cause of that. He cuts the rope and falls to the ground, gasping for a breath he feels will never come. Barging into his bathroom and stares at the mirror, _Fuck_ he thinks to himself. Staring at his own reflection he already sees the changes, his eyes have flecks of gold in them, and his neck appears to be in perfect condition, no rope marks, no bruises. Something isn't right and he needs to tell someone, or else he'll go mad.

It takes him fifteen minutes to reach Hermione's apartment normally, today he took three and may have stolen a teenager's dirt bike in the process.

It's worth it, he thinks, it was urgent and I had to get there as fast as possible. He brakes and hops off the bike, engine running and all. Racing up the stairs until he's there in front of her door, he frantically pounds on her door and when she's not answering, he reaches for his wand and blasts open the door. Stumbling in the process until he finds himself stranded in her living room in a daze, bewildered he turns around and around looking for his friend until he hears the faint noises of the shower. He finds the bathroom he thinks she's in and kicks the door open, finding himself staring at a mirror image of himself, only female. With no words he finds himself in another vision, then his eyes roll up to the back of his head and he collapses for the second time that day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Idea: Duality**

**Outcome: I have no idea**

**The Blight**

**A Year Later**

It takes a while for Harry to recognize what he's looking at is in fact, himself. He's sitting down in his kitchen alone, gazing far through the wide windows into the forest that surrounds his home. Then he sees a man staring back at him, a man quite similar to himself.

They both share the same faded scar that rests just under the hairline, they both share the same haunted expression and that's as far as the similarity goes.

What's different, are the eyes… the dull, regretful eyes that belong to Harry are now replaced with two piercing golden eyes that vibrate wildly. The other man in the glass looks unhinged. _Feral_, and then the eyes blink and the man's lips spread out into a wide smile.

Harry snaps out of it, he's breathing hard and he's doing his best to remind himself that he's not going bonkers.

He steps out of his seat, and walks into his living room, the cozy feeling that it had previously brought him when he first bought the house is no more and now Harry can't help but feel as if every shadow from the light outside is lengthening and morphing into…

Harry snaps out of it again, for the second time today, he could already feel his sanity slipping and spiraling out of his control. Well, he doesn't have much control in the first place.

Realizing what he needs to do, and realizing that he's been internally monologuing and scaring himself for the past fifteen minutes he opens up the lid of the tiniest jar atop of his fireplace, takes a pinch of the ever warm green powder in between his fingers and recites the name of Hermione's home, and lets his vision become encased in a whirlpool of the unusual scorching, yet pleasant flames carry him away and into another world until his feet land in another familiar fireplace he knows isn't his.

Harry Potter, savior of Britain opens his eyes and steps out into Hermione Granger's flat. He observes the little pictures and portraits of her memories until he remembers that he's not at his house anymore. Placing back a particular still photo of him and her under a ferris wheel, memories of the little white speck of ice cream on the tip of her nose, the tilt of her head as she leaned against him, the smug smirk of her lips, they flood him and he could go on and on about that particular photo but he needs to talk to her right this moment.

Hollering her name across the living room and into her study he strides in, not bothering to knock or announce his entrance he pushes past the door and into her awaiting embrace. He nuzzles his head against her chest as he sobs into her sweater, the golden tears flickering in the dim, warm light, as they drip down and down and down again.

"I can't do it anymore Hermione, I can't handle it any longer." he manages out as she's gently caressing his arm soothingly.

"Don't worry Harry, it'll be all over soon, you don't have to deal with it any more."

And deep in his head he wants this to be oh so true but he knows, and she knows that it's only going to get worse and worse, but there's nothing she can do but comfort him and pretend like it's a blight that will go away with time. This, Harry accepts because he too knows that it's only going to get so much more worse than right now, so he'll take the false promises and bandages to delay the inevitable, if only.

But she's there, his anchor, and he'll do anything and everything for her to make sure that she survives, if only to keep him a little less insane a little longer.

"Do you want some tea Harry?" she murmurs.

"Yes please." and yet he feels like he's already had this conversation with her a million times over. Only this time there's something wrong and he knows it's not him.

The tea is fabulous, like it always is. Green Tea and Chamomile she tells him, not that he doesn't already know that, but he appreciates any second of silence broken so he'll let her talk and ramble on about how her work in the Department of Mysteries is. Yet every second she's enthusiastically going on and on about her current project, analyzing the statistics behind how strong different properly casted wards are Harry can't help but notice something's off with the tea. It's not truth potion, he knows what that feels like, it's not a poison or an aphrodisiac, it tastes like an almost replica of Hermione's favorite tea, Green Tea and Chamomile. However it's just got slightly more honey than there should be. Harry takes another sip, records it in his head and places the mostly empty mug on the tiny round table in her dining area.

As he's listening to fake-Hermione talk about her work, he starts to notice that slight discrepancies in her speech compared to the real Hermione's voice, the way the real Hermione makes an audible short intake of air as she continues a rant compared to the fake Hermione's slight stutter as she starts a new chain of speech. His eyes wander around the room, looking for signs of change, noticing the ever slight errors in where things should be. Such as how the blanket throw on her sofa which is always on the right side is now in the middle, crumpled up instead of neatly folded and on the armrest. He notices how the portrait of him, Ron, and Hermione is perfectly straight instead of the slightly crooked angle he's always used to seeing it at. Harry makes up his mind in that instant.

His whole body is tense, alight and trembling with pent up rage as he slowly raises his arms to place them on top of the table and stares into fake Hermione's eyes until they flicker elsewhere until he _lunges_ forward and wraps his hands around her throat and pushes her body against the table. Holding her in place as he crushes her windpipe.

He growls, "Where's the real Hermione damnit! What did you do to her?" and all the sudden her eyes are alight with a ferocious fire that sends a shard of fear into his soul, but he doesn't show this and doubles the amount of pressure against her throat until he can feel the ridges and grooves of her throat. It's only then until she darts her eyes towards the closet and tilts her head rapidly in the direction does Harry notice and start to understand where the real Hermione is, or most likely where her _body_ is deposited. With a final heave and a dull cracking sensation does Harry let go of her body as it crashes into the ground like a ragdoll.

He's striding fast and powerfully, his wand's out in his arm and it's glowing in an ominous gold, spectral light as he nears her closet. He's in front of the closet now, the only thing separating the truth and himself is the door, and as his hands wrap around the doorknob his breath hitches and quiets as he flings the door open to see the sight of a very dead Hermione Granger slumped over, pale and so very still. Harry doesn't feel anything, he doesn't think he should, only that he knows that something is very wrong with the world and only he knows that there's something wrong. Shutting the door and using a cleaning charm to wipe the blood from the closet floor and closing Hermione's unfocused eyes he apparates right outside her apartment complex.

He knows what he must do, and he does that as he raises his wand and a jet of white light streaks towards the center of the apartment complex until it impacts against the stone wall and then the apartment complex is gone. What stands in its place is a mass of rubble and dust, Harry can already begin to start seeing tiny flickers of white fire beginning to consume the remaining standing structures until in the blink of an eye the building is enveloped in a blazing white inferno. He can feel the heat lick and tease at his face, the tiny bubbles of hatred beginning to build up as he starts to see what's wrong with the world he lives in. It wouldn't surprise him if Ron was dead already and a fake Ron in his place.

"Might as well pay 'Ron' a little visit now." chuckles Harry, until the small laughter turns into full blown hysteria as tears are streaming down his face and he doesn't know whether it's tears of laughter or sadness.

As if it matters anymore.


End file.
